


Game Night

by MayM



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Sherlock, Cluedo, Cute, Fluff, Funny, Games, It's supposed to be funny, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, cute stuff, didnt really work, game, mystrade, oh well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayM/pseuds/MayM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John and Sherlock realise the first time they played Cluedo didn't work as well was because there were only two of them playing, John decides to invite Mycroft and Lestrade over to play with them. Tuesday becomes their weekly game night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Night

“How about Cluedo?” John asks, sticking his head out of the small cabinet. Greg groans, Mycroft rolls his eyes, yet Sherlock perks up, a light flickering in his eyes.

“John that is possibly the worst game you could think of playing, look further into the cupboard, I'm sure you've got better ones,” Greg answers.

“Now now, Lestrade, if Cluedo is what John wants, then Cluedo it is,” Sherlock smirks, drawing a sigh from Mycroft.

“Great, that's great,” John enthuses, standing up from his crouch, holding the box out in front of him as he returns to the middle of the 221B living room. Setting the game on the floor in the centre of the circle, he jabbers on as he opens the lid and sets up, “This used to be a great favourite of mine as a child, not that I ever won, I always found it really hard, I'm sure Sherlock will be great though.” The last comment spreads a smile across Sherlock's face, yet Mycroft and Greg ignore his talk and argue over Reverend Green.

Mycroft twirls the green player between his fingers, holding it above his head and grinning at Lestrade's protests.

“Right. Right, if we're going to play we're going to have to do this properly,” John calls out to the room, snatching the green man from Mycroft's fingers. “Do rock paper scissors, it is a game night after all,” He offers the bickering men, who then reluctantly play the game, ending with three points to Mycroft, and none to Greg.

“Better luck next time, love,” Mycroft teases, holding his hand out to John, who then drops the piece of wood into his outstretched hand.

“Fine then, I'll be Professor Plum,” Greg declares, grabbing the box.

“Sorry, taken,” Sherlock trills, holding up the purple piece.

“And how is that fair?” Greg asks, and Sherlock merely gestures at the purple shirt he currently wears. “Alright, fine I'll be colonel mustard,” Yet Sherlock again shakes his head. He chucks a yellow piece at John, who catches it.

“I'm sorry, Lestrade, but that position is currently taken by the good Dr Watson here,” Shaking his head at the spluttering Greg, he continues, “Maybe if you had chosen him earlier you could have been him, but you missed your chance when playing with my dear brother.” Grumbling, Greg reaches into the box, pulling out the first piece his fingers clasp on.

John wolf whistles and Mycroft hoots as he pulls out a brilliant red piece, and he hurriedly tries to swap it, yet John snatches the box out of reach.

“Sorry, Greg, but no changing now, looks like you're stuck as the dashing Miss Scarlett,” John giggles as he unfolds the board.

“Well that's one fantasy I can tick off my list,” Snickers Mycroft, receiving a strangled shout of dismay and hatred from Sherlock. John dishes out the sheets, pencils and cards, as Mycroft reads the rules aloud.

He reaches the end and raises an eyebrow at Sherlock, “Now remember, brother, this game isn't about deduction, it's about elimination and strategy,”

“I fully well know that,” He spits in reply, “The game, Mycroft Holmes, is on!”

***

John frowns at his cards, confused by his own jottings of what people have asked and what people don't have; he never was good at this game. Greg looks as baffled as he is, Sherlock conveys no emotions, yet Mycroft has a smug smile on his face as he asks for the Ballroom, Colonel Mustard and the Knife.

***

Sherlock and Mycroft rise, empowered by their shouting match.

“Read the rules, I am _right_!” Bellows Sherlock to his fuming brother.

“I read the rules at the beginning, you can't move more than the amount you roll, and you can't question people!”

“What type of game is that then if it's not remotely realistic? What, you honestly think the policemen at Scotland Yard have to wait for everyone else to take a step before they can?” He pauses and then adds, “Well actually judging by the rate they realise the meager details that is what you would assume,”

“Stop being so childish Sherlock and play the game!” Mycroft answers coolly, yet his flushed face burns with anger. 

Ignoring the argument unfolding above them, Greg and John still remain crossed legged on the floor, role playing with their characters. Colonel Mustard was half way through taking Miss Scarlett to the bedroom when Sherlock storms out into his own. Putting down his piece with a sigh, John stands up and goes to calm down and retrieve his partner.

***

“I can't believe this, I've got it, I've got it!” Whoops Greg, eyes bulging at his cards. Rolling the dice, he manages to obtain enough to get him to the Cellar to make his accusation.

“Alright, I think it's Professor Plum, the knife and in the Ballroom.” He holds his breath as everyone looks at their cards to see if they've got any of the given suspects, and Sherlock begins to chuckle.

“You're wrong,” He manages to say through his rumbling laughs, showing only Greg the card in his hand reading, “KNIFE,”

“Dammit!” Screams Greg, throwing his cards down onto the ground next to him. John joins in with Sherlock's laughs, yet they both stop short and start protesting as Greg joins with Mycroft and shows him his answers.

“You can't do that!” Exclaims John, pointing at them wide-eyed.

“Says who?” Greg grunts, filling in the rest of Mycroft's sheet for him as the said man strokes his hair.

“Me!” Whines John, yet they ignore him.

“Oh, come on John!” Sherlock snaps, grabbing his sheet and comparing their discoveries.

“No, we're playing it wrong!” John continues to moan, yet Sherlock merely waves his grasping hands away.

“Got it!” Mycroft and Sherlock both shout at once, searching for the dice. Sherlock spots it half way across the room from when Lestrade had rolled for his six a bit too vigorously, and dives for it.

He rolls it and calls out, “One!” To John, who moves their piece along a place, the competition suddenly rich in the air.

Mycroft grabs the dice off of Sherlock and rolls it, whooping as they get a three.

Mycroft and Greg lie seven away from the Cellar, and Sherlock and John nine.

“Roll it Sherlock!” John squeaks out, bobbing up and down as Sherlock yells,

“Four!”

“Two!” Mycroft rolls.

“One!” Sherlock cries out.

“One!” Mycroft retaliates.

“Two!” Yells Sherlock.

“Three!” Buzzes Mycroft.

“You have to get the exact amount remember!” John speaks up, as Sherlock shouts,

“Two! Yes John, we've done it!” He picks up his sheet with a flourish and reads out their answers clearly, “It was Miss Scarlett, in the Bedroom, with the Rope,” The room falls silent, and Mycroft smiles coldly as he reads out his own results.

“It was Professor Plum, in the Bedroom, with the Rope.” They all tense as Mycroft picks up the envelope and pulls out the cards. Watching his face for reactions, he reveals no emotions as he tells the others the answers.

“It was... in the Bedroom.... With the Rope.... And it was...” A hush falls in the circle, and John feels Sherlock hold his breath beside him, “Professor Plum!” Greg and Mycroft's whoops of victory are barely heard over Sherlock's rampaging voice.

“HOW CAN I BE THE MURDERER IF I AM THE ONE TRYING TO FIND OUT WHO THE MURDERER WAS? HMM? HOW DOES THAT WORK?”

“It _doesn't_ work like that, dear brother,” Mycroft answers, beaming, arm wrapped around Greg's waist.

“Sherlock, what I want to know is why the hell you crossed Professor Plum off the list without being shown his card?” John asks, frowning at Sherlock's list.

“I think I knew I wasn't the murderer, John,” He snaps.

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, John replies, “For God's sake Sherlock, we went through the rules last time AND this time, the victim can't be the murderer, and your character can!” Sherlock, in an act of fury that is fueled by Mycroft and Greg's laughter, grabs the board, scattering the cards and pieces on top of it, marches to their fireplace, grabs the knife that was previously lodged in a stack of paper on top of the mantle piece, and stabs the board against the wall, before spinning away off to his bedroom to sulk.

“Winners clean up!” John calls behind his shoulder to Mycroft and Greg, and follows Sherlock into their room to calm him down.

***

As John begins to drift off to sleep in Sherlock's arms, he hears the front door close softly, and he snuggles into the crook of Sherlock's shoulder, dreams welcoming him.

***

John awakens to the sound of the shower, and he stretches in bed.

He gets up and walks through to the living room, smiling with amusement at the game board stuck in their wall. His smile leaves his face, however, when he sees the pieces still scattered on the floor. Going down on all fours to pick them up and grumbling to himself, he spots a piece of folded up paper. After unfolding it, he scans over it.

_You two actually won, but I thought that for once he needed to learn to lose. Nice to play with you both, looking forward to next Tuesday. Please refrain from telling Sherlock this, I don't want to cause a family uproar over games again. He never did forgive me for beating him at snaps..._

“Sherlock?” He calls out over the rushing water. “You want to play Monopoly with Greg and Mycroft next week?”

He hears the yell of agreement, and smiles to himself as he cleans up from the night before.


End file.
